


Jean Kirstein's Precious Little Life

by ohsnapCiera



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Scott Pilgrim AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsnapCiera/pseuds/ohsnapCiera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein is coming out of his Mourning Period, playing in a punk band that exclusively covers boy band hits, dating a high schooler, and sharing a bed (and everything else) with his asexual room mate.  Everything is finally approaching normal until a major change comes barreling through on a sick pair of roller blades.</p><p>What would you do to be with the person of your dreams who you also happened to meet in your dreams?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dating a High Schooler

"Jean Kirstein is dating a high schooler," Eren dead pans, leaning backwards in one of their mismatched chairs.  I sincerely hope that asshole tips over.  That would teach him to look so damn smug.  
  
Sasha's head whips around, face lit eerily by the glow of the refrigerator light.  Armin cocks an eyebrow, long fingers curled around his mug of tea and eyes boring into me over the thick novel he's been carrying around for the better part of a week.  (Can't imagine the fit he'd have if he knew Eren used it for a cutting board last night.  Tucking that one away for later use.)  
  
"Where did you even meet this mystery child?" Sasha quips around a mouthful of apple.  There's still a frightening glint in her eyes, one that screams  _I'm waiting for the right moment to sneak away and call Connie to gossip about this_.  
  
Armin taps a finger against his lips, barely pouting, now distracted from the text in front of him.  "How long have you been out of high school now Jean?  Like, ten years?"  
  
"I'm twenty-three," I grumble, arms crossing tightly across my chest and leaning a hip against the counter space by their sink (which is, disgustingly, overflowing with dirty dishes).  At this point I'm seriously considering ditching band practice for the day, no matter how much it will piss Eren off.  Admittedly, that would just be a little bonus- like to keep him on his toes.  
  
"What do you guys even do?"  
  
I'm gonna punch that stupid smirk off Eren's face, I swear.   
  
"Yeah, is she allowed out after dark?"  
  
Sasha again, apple already gone and replaced by a bag of off brand chips.  Is this girl's leg hollow?  I've always been too scared to ask.  
  
I busy myself by searching for a clean glass in the cabinets, hoping there's something besides Sunny D in the fridge for once.  Eren may go on and on about the health benefits of his vegetarian, clean-eating diet but he still guzzles that orange shit like its going out of style so I'm no sure how much stock I would put in his preaching.  
  
"Okay, okay," Armin laughs, sensing Eren brainstorming another remark.  "Really, how did you guys meet?"  
  
"We met on the bus, actually," I begin, plucking a can of soda from the back of the fridge.  I judge by the silence that I'm expected to expand on our meet-cute.  I sigh, forgoing the glass and just popping the tab on my soda.  "She was riding with her mom, and-"  
  
Sasha snorts, effectively halting my train of thought.  Eren quickly loses his composure and soon they're both cackling like a pair of damn hyenas.  Armin cuts his eyes at her over another sip of tea and the table quiets again.  
  
"And she dropped her books.  I picked them up, we started talking, and the rest is none of your damn business."  
  
"Jean, really," Eren is leaning back in his chair again and I feel a twitch starting in my right eye; the desire to see him bust his ass is still very much present.  "We're just being good friends, checking in on you.  We're honestly glad to see your mourning period is finally over."  
  
"Yeah, " Sasha nods emphatically, "we were really worried about you there for a while after Mi-"  
  
"Anyway!"  Armin has the uncanny ability to butt in just before things get really ugly, God bless him.  He probably saved my poor soda can's life; I hadn't noticed just how tight my grip had gotten.  I set the crumpled can on the counter, flexing color back into my knuckles.  Eren and Sasha exchange nervous glances under the weight of Armin's disapproving stare, his wide blue eyes clearly conveying his unspoken warning to  _not take this conversation there_.  
  
"Uh, right." Eren fumbles, pushing away from the table.  "About that practice then.  Should we start with  _Larger Than Life_?"  
  
I've never been more relieved to leave a kitchen.

* * *

Its a long quiet walk back to the down town apartment I share with my childhood friend, Connie Springer.  I thank God for the guy everyday; had he not been willing to share his loft apartment when I decided to come back to the city, my scrawny ass would be slummin' it in an alley way somewhere.    
  
I don't pause to greet the owner of the bakery our place is perched over- not today.  Normally I might endure the small talk that would earn me a free half dozen danishes or so; let them ask when our band is playing or how Eren is doing.  I just can't find it in me, but I can feel their owl-like green eyes following me until I'm safely in the stairwell.  
  
I don't mind living with Connie.  Like I said, I basically owe him my life.  He's helped me through more than just my housing crisis.  But there's something severely suffocating about sharing every little thing with someone you're not even getting any from, not that Con doesn't have his occasional  _I'll be the big spoon tonight, baby_ moments.    
  
Bed?  Connie's.  
  
TV?  Connie's.  
  
Towels?  Connie's.  
  
As a matter of fact, I might have accidentally swiped on of his cardigans this morning.  Damn I really need a job.  You can only hear  _you're totally my bitch forever_ so many times before you start believing it.  
  
I push open the door and there he is, kicked back in the recliner in only his boxers which is seriously getting too normal.  
  
"Seriously, Connie.  Would it kill you to wear some pants?  And before you hear it from anyone else, yes I am dating a seventeen year old."  
  
"Oh, is he cute?"  
  
His eyes are positively sparkling, reminding me too much of Sasha, eyebrows waggling so fast I think they might fly off his face, leaving two ridiculous bald patches on his dark face.  
  
" _She_ is a lovely girl and may she never have to suffer through meeting you," I grumble, hanging my borrowed cardigan on one of the hooks by the door.  
  
"Aw, does this mean I've lost my big spoon privileges?"  
  
My response is to slam the bathroom door.  
  
Leaning over the sink, I stare myself down in the grimy mirror, huffing a few wayward strand of hair out of my narrowed eyes.  Can't remember the last time I had a proper hair cut; I can tuck bits of it behind my ears now, my once signature undercut a thing of the past. God knows I can't afford a decent haircut and I don't trust any of my friends to get _near_ my head with clippers. Not even well-meaning Armin. Last summer Eren let Armin give him a trim since money was kind of tight- we had to end up shaving it all of and starting new.

Gave him hell about it for the longest, but his hair grows surprisingly fast.  
  
Summers in Trost are shockingly hot and muggy and the trek home in the thick heat hadn't really done me any favors smell-wise. I turn the shower tap to the widest section of blue, the spray of water calming white noise that allows my brain to shut off for a while. As I strip down, I catch sight of myself in the mirror again and _squint_ . I think I can just make out a glimmer, a very slight reflection of my _old self_.  
  
Maybe they were right. Maybe this really _is_ the end of my mourning period.  
  
My shower is pleasant and I exit the bathroom in a much better mood than when I entered, even humming as I searched the fridge for leftovers (again, Connie's). We shoot the shit over what's left of a Stauffer's lasagna, Connie still in his recliner and me propped up on our bed, plate resting on the flat of my stomach.  
  
When we turn in for the night, I realize in the dark that some days are one step forward two steps back and others are _just_ for forward motion. I'm pretty confident today was one of those. 

* * *

I'm on my knees, surrounded on all sides by stone walls that are more than high enough to keep me pinned in like some wild animal. The sun is directly overhead, glaring down on me- hot, angry, and intense. I try my best to look up but I'm beaten down time and time again, eyes burning and watering.  
  
“Oh god,” I drop to my knees and my voice echoes, bounces around my enclosure. “I'm so alone.”  
  
The echoes die down, giving way to another sound, scratching and dragging in turns, repeating what seems like countless times. I lift my head, still sun blind from trying too long to look up and out, and see a door that I swear wasn't there before- never has been. A figure is rapidly approaching from this new entry (or exit, if I'm feeling hopeful).  
  
“You're not alone!”  
  
The voice echoes, deep and rich and unbearably sweet, wrapping around me and drawing me back to my feet. Closer and closer still until I can pin point the source of the _scratch, drag_ \- roller blades. Time seems to slow as they approach. The harsh sun casts shadows on the stranger's face, spilling down onto full, freckled cheeks, dimpled by their wide smile. Their eyes are hidden by clunky goggles but I don't need to see their eyes to know I'm a goner.  
  
As they zoom by, they turn back, still smiling, to offer, “Its just a dream! You can wake up any time!”  
  
And wake I do, in a bed that's technically not mine, surrounded by things that I don't really own, shirtless and sweaty with Connie clinging to my arm like an overgrown koala.  
  
_Well that was different.  
_

* * *

 

I'm idly picking at my guitar strap in Eren and Co.'s living room the next day, pondering over last night's weird divergence from my usual _so alone_ dream scape. The walls aren't unusual; I'm used to feeling caged. I don't understand the appearance of that door- red paint chipping, brass knob tarnished, old and worn but a way out; a way through.  
  
_You're not alone_.  
  
And who the hell even wears roller blades anymore? Get that guy a bike.  
  
“Hey! Jean!” Eren pokes his head around the wall separates the entryway from the main room, halting any further thoughts about weird dream boys and doors. “There's some high school girl at the door for you?” He smirks and gives my shoe a nudge with his foot as he passes on his way to the kitchen.  
  
Oh right. I invited The Girl to band practice. I think I was actually supposed to pick her up, but looks like she found her own way. Good for her.  
  
I peel myself off the couch with a huff- god, I'm feeling old-and sure enough, there she is, twirling dark strands of hair nervously around her fingers, glued in the doorway. She must have just come from some school club meeting (drama? Yearbook? I really can't remember). Maybe I should have mentioned this was a casual kind of event, no blazers necessary. In any case, I suppose its my job as Boyfriend to make introductions and collect unnecessary blazers.  
  
“Mina, hey!”  
  
Immediately her shoulders relax and her lips part on a wide smile, freckled button nose crinkling in a way that is undeniably adorable. _Freckles..._  
  
“Jean! I thought we were supposed to meet at this bus stop this afternoon,” her smile droops a bit, “but I guess I just misunderstood. Good thing you thought to give me Eren's address!”  
  
Oh god. I screwed up and she's making excuses for me. Mina Carolina, actual angel in a blazer, khaki skirt, and fishtail braid. (Spending the better part of my life around Sasha has taught me more than I ever wanted to know about braids.)  
  
“Yeah, sorry. Maybe we'll communicate better next time.”  
  
I shrug and shove one hand in my pocket, the other finding the small of her back as I lead her into the living room, instructing her to _sit anywhere_ with a wave of my hand. Her wide dark eyes dart around, unable to settle on one detail for any amount of time- the overflowing bookshelves that the ratty, floral thrift shop sofa is sandwiched between, Sasha's drum kit taking up the space that was once occupied by a coffee table, my bass and Eren's acoustic guitar on either side of her set up, an amp topped by a glass full of Sunny D. (Dammit, Eren.)  
  
Armin is the first to venture out of the kitchen. Thank God. Maybe Mina will assume my friends are normal and not insufferable assholes who live to stomp all over my last nerve. His hair is mostly bundled on top of his head, a few wisps escaping to frame his face; one of Eren's old tee shirts sags off his shoulder. He smiles at us, bright eyes sparkling, and takes a seat next to Mina on the couch.  
  
A few beats of silence pass and I know Armin is waiting for an introduction but I'm really bad at this, surprising no one. Before it gets too awkward, he speaks up.  
  
“You must be Jean's girlfriend, Mina. Jean,” he looks past Mina to me, quirking an eyebrow, “has told us _so much_ about you. Its nice to finally meet you.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, too,” she replies, voice soft. “Jean talks about his band all the time. I'm really excited to hear you all play.”  
  
“Well, I don't play. I just live here and keep the animals in line. Speaking of which... Eren, Sasha, you can come out now.”  
  
They both emerge, each holding a corn dog and looking particularly guilty. I squint at them, crossing my arms over my chest.  
  
“Okay if we're all _done_ now, I think it would be nice to actually start practice.”  
  
Naturally, I'm ignored in favor of Sasha flopping down on Mina's other side to basically play Twenty Questions while fidgeting with her braid, refashioning it into low pigtails. Armin and Eren take turns asking questions about her classes and clubs. After a few minutes, she really opens up, head thrown back and laughing at Sasha's (completely inaccurate) impression of me- cheeks puffed out, brow furrowed and arms crossed.  
  
We don't play a note all night.  
  
I walk Mina to the bus stop around eight after several worried texts from her mom, urging her to head home immediately. The air is still heavy, full of moisture- another storm is probably moving in.  
  
She stops under the streetlight by the bus shelter and looks up at me, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. With a shrug and a little huff she adjusts her backpack, freeing one of her braids from under the strap.  
  
“This was fun, Jean! It was so nice to meet your friends; they're all so nice!” She looks down, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the pavement then glances back up at me through thick lashes. “But maybe next time it can just be us.”  
  
Oh no, this is it. This is the part where I'm supposed to kiss her even though all I've done is touch her back. She's expecting it and god she really is a nice girl and so cute with her freckles and... _Freckles_. I can feel sweat beading just under my collar and my body is locking up bit by bit. I can't move and Mina is still looking at me, expecting.  
  
Luckily the bus breaks me out of my terrified rigor and my breath escapes in a huff. I try to smile at Mina but I know it looks forced and shaky. I don't want to face the disappointment I know I'll find if I meet her gaze so I just mumble a quick _later_ and trust she can make it on the bus herself.  
  
_You're not alone_.  
  
Yeah, well.


	2. I'm Dreaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a little short, I know. I want to do all the scenes justice, but don't want to leave anyone wanting for long stretches of time. Hope you enjoy this little installment!

I wake up to a weird buzzing against my cheek. The bed is empty, curtains drawn so beyond roughly _half past Connie's at work o'clock_ I have no idea what time it is. The buzzing stops, but I'm awake _now_ , dammit. The foul taste of the wall dream lingers- no mystery door this time. Didn't want your help, anyway, Dream Boy. I stretch , spine and knees giving a series of satisfying pops and cracks, then roll around a bit, looking for a sufficiently cool spot in the sheets. I end up hanging off the side of the bed, feet nicely cushioned on Connie's pillows.  
  
Just as I'm _finally_ contemplating rolling out of bed and stealing a bagel, the buzzing starts up again. _Geez_! I grope blindly under pillows and blankets, grumbling, until a finally lay a hand on my phone. Another stretch before I swipe _Answer_ but before a curse can even pass my lips the voice on the other end starts in on giving me hell.  
  
“Seventeen years old? Scandal!”  
  
I groan, draping my arm over my eyes, perfectly able to picture tiny blonde Christa perched cross-legged on her stool behind the counter of the downtown record store. Did teasing me really warrant a call from work?  
  
“Who the hell even told you? And why are you calling me at, like, six in the morning?”  
  
“Connie, of course.” That gossipy bitch. “And it's well past noon, sweetheart. I thought you were trying to get your life together.”  
  
I'm not awake enough for this shit and even if I was, I wouldn't have a solid excuse for myself. Is it possible to feel this tense after just waking up? I mean Christa is like a sister to me but I usually only get the unfortunate, nosy, pushy parts of that bond. I suppose its too much to hope Connie left anything in the coffee pot to help me through this.  
  
“Her name is Mina.” My heart beats steadily, no sudden upheaval at the mention of New Girl's name, and I'm not sure what that means. I don't think I want to talk about it, anyway, so I don't offer anymore details. Christa lets the silence stretch, lets me stew for a bit before finally continuing.  
  
“Listen, Jean, just answer one question. Are you _really_ happy or are you just wasting time? Sasha told me you're out of your Mourning Period, but...” She sighs softly, a long exhale saying more than her words ever would. I have no doubt she's leaned on the counter, fingers of one hand fisted in the longer bits of her pixie length hair. “You may not see it, but a lot of things have changed since she left.”  
  
_That's_ when my entire body starts to riot; my pulse pounds in my ears, limbs go stiff, and I'm pretty sure my skin is literally engulfed in flame. The weight on my chest that has been blessedly absent returns to crush me, pissed that it hasn't already finished the job. I'm still not speaking and I'm sure Christa isn't expecting me to.  
  
“I have to go.” My voice is weak, hollow. Its been a year now. Why am I still like this? “I think I have a date with Mina today.”  
  
“Jean, we love you, and we just want what's best for you. Please remember that. And change your shirt before your date.”  
  
I say a half-hearted goodbye and wait for her to hang up before I let go of the phone, letting it slide of the bed and drop like a brick.  
  
What's behind your mystery door, Dream Boy? It has to be better than this.

* * *

After a miserable cold shower (looks like the water heater is out again), I'm dressed and heading to meet Mina for the date we had planned for the day. Its not like I forgot; its just par for the course for me to be almost an hour late.  
  
Sure enough, there she is, all doe-eyed and brimming with excitement. She catches sight of me and I swear to God her feet leave the ground for a few seconds, like she's floating on a cloud of expectations for our day together. Never mind that I'm embarrassingly late, fresh out of the bed I share with my roommate, wearing a shirt that I'm not entirely sure is clean (that mustard stain could be new or years old, hell, this shirt might not even belong to me).  
  
“Jean, hey!”  
  
She runs toward me and _oh no_ I recognize that crouch. She's going to jump and I would be a horrible person if I didn't catch her. _Oh, there's that guy who let his tiny girlfriend bust her face on the pavement_ . Luckily I have years of experience catching Sasha when she decides I need an attack hug- I'm even able to pull off spinning her around a time or two (much to her delight).  
  
She gives me one last squeeze before taking a step back, toying with the end of one of her pigtails, and I'm surprised to feel my lips quirk up in a genuine smile. Maybe today won't be so bad after all if I can just relax for a few hours. Mina is a sweet girl. Some time with her could really do some good.  
  
“So what do we have planned for the day?”  
  
“Oh, I thought we'd take the bus into town and grab some lunch. Jus' a sandwich or something, it doesn't matter to me.” She's still playing with her hair, gazing at me through her lashes like she did under the street light the other night. Surprisingly this doesn't make me sweat like it did then, but I still look away like I'm thinking of somewhere to spend the afternoon.  
  
“You know, I think Colossal Cup does lunch on the weekends. We could just go there?”  
  
Mina hangs on every word and its something I can really see myself getting used to. Its nice to feel big in someone's eyes. By the time the bus pulls up to whisk us away, my smile is full and genuine.  
  
We make small talk the whole way there and its surprisingly comfortable since its mostly her telling me about her school week- yearbook club, orchestra, drama. She's really involved. I do get a word in sometimes. She laughs when I lament that the bus smells like an arm pit. (Take  _that_ , Christa. Girls _do_ think that's funny.)  
  
We walk the last block to Colossal Cup and between Mina gushing over how amazing the band is and how _unbelievably cool_ I looked playing my guitar, I'm finally starting to understand what those YA novels are talking about when they describe floating in some lovey-dovey, rose colored bubble. We bump elbows as we walk and she scrunches her nose at me sometimes which is just as cute as I remember.  
  
It doesn't take much to pop bubbles, though.  
  
All it takes is us stepping up to the counter. Mina is too engrossed in the chalkboard menu to notice I've drawn back into myself. She's mumbling about adding chicken to her salad or something but I'm pinned by the wolfish grin of the girl behind the counter. She gestures frantically at Mina and mouths _g_ _irlfriend_ with more exaggeration than is really necessary.  
  
I just glare back at her, shoving my hands in my jean pockets and continue to sulk. So much for a pleasant lunch.  
  
“Kirstein,” she drawls, predatory grin still wide, the smattering of freckles muddled across her dark skin doing nothing to soften her appearance. She's all elbows, leaning across the counter. “Look what the cat dragged in! What, are you babysitting today?”  
  
“Thank you, Ymir,” I mumble under my breath, praying for Mina to order or- even better- suggest going somewhere else. No such luck; she's moved down to the poorly stocked pastry case and out of ear shot. You'd think it could end there. It would be enough for Ymir to jab at me for a while, make a salad and let us leave, but my luck is truly abysmal.  
  
“Hey, small fry!” Mina's head pops up. “Yeah, you! What are you doing with this loser? I can already tell you're too good for him. I would advise getting out while you still can.”  
  
Mina laughs nervously, fidgeting with her hair again as I hiss, “ _Thank you_ , Ymir.”  
  
Ten minutes later we're finally free of the big freckled menace and situated at a corner table.  Mina is picking at her salad (that she did end up adding chicken to), ankles daintily crossed, feet swinging a few inches off the ground.  I'm idly swirling what's left of the weird bubble tea Ymir had pushed at me instead of the Coke I asked for, looking somewhere over Mina's shoulder.  
  
"Don't pay any attention to Ymir," I say finally, desperate to break the oppressive silence that's settled over us.  "She just likes to stir shit up where ever she goes, especially when I'm involved."    
  
To my surprise that's all it takes.  Her sunshine smile is back full force after my weak assurance that Ymir's attitude has nothing to do with her.  We finish lunch in a more relaxed quiet, occasionally commenting on other patrons that come and go while we linger.  Mina comes up with a pretty good story for a guy who comes in and raises absolute Cain at Ymir.   _His shoes must be too tight; who gets that worked up over ranch?  Tight shoes or a loveless marriage.  Hard to tell._  Ymir flicks a booger at him as he storms out.  Classy as always.  
  
On our way out, Mina pauses by the community message board hung over the condiment station.  Its usually littered with fliers for local shows (sometimes that includes us), guitar lessons, art classes, and stuff like that.  Ymir will even pin her own crude artwork up sometimes.  I don't think anything of it, even when she tugs my sleeve, eyes wide and jaw practically unhinged.  Her pink glossed lips flap wordlessly and she shakes me a little  _and what the hell broke this girl_ _?_  
  
"Mina, listen," I grip her shoulders, trying to get her to focus.  "You've got to use your words."  
  
" _Ackerman_!"  
  
Because my luck wasn't already rock bottom today.  
  
"I can't believe  _Mikasa Ackerman_ is doing a gallery show  _here_!  Jean do you even  _know_ how amazing this is?  We  _have_ to go!"  
  
She's ecstatic, clutching her hands and throwing up her arms in turns.  That weight is back, though, and I'm genuinely surprised I'm still upright.  Dark, sharp eyes gaze down at me from the poster tacked up over several other ads .  Her signature red scarf obscures her mouth but I can't even imagine her smiling anymore.  I nod my head as Mina continues, less as a means of agreement to any plans she's making and more of a way to get my limbs to thaw so I can move enough to  _get out_.  I chance a look over my shoulder, back at the counter; Ymir is still there but her expression has softened into something almost unrecognizable and I'm annoyed more than ever by her pity.  
  
"Let's just go on ahead to the library," I say, voice steady.  Mina doesn't even flinch- just keeps talking as she follows me out the door.

* * *

 Its my turn to follow her as she paces the aisles of the library, plucking books from the shelves as she whispers to me about her upcoming history project.  I ghost along in her wake, arms full of books.  I haven't said a word beyond what's necessary since we left Colossal Cup, can't shake the pity in Ymir's eyes.  It would have been easier to deal with if she had just called me out for being so... _me_.

  
You know that feeling you get when you splash in a puddle and your shoes are ruined and pants are soaked up to the knee?  Squishy and uncomfortable and hopeless.  That's kind of what today feels like now, in the vein of  _what could I have possibly done to deserve this?_    Once I hit my stride with Mina, things had been fine, but constantly hitting these snags and being dragged down- having to start all over again- is exhausting.  All I want to do is go home and sleep for an uninterrupted sixteen hours.    
  
We're at the top of the stairs when i notice something cutting through the library's usual dusty smell.  My stomach growls and I just know-  _pizza_.  Who the hell has pizza in a library?  Shortly after zeroing in on the smell, I hear a noise that is familiar, but I can't quite place it.  Almost like a scratching, a  _swish_ , a  _drag_.  That's when I see him.  
  
He's weaving through the study tables, forwards and backwards as the situation demands, grinning sheepishly and waving apologies at the disgruntled students he passes.  His eyes are covered with those clunky,  _ridiculous_ goggles but that smile is so bright and genuine I can see it from way up here.  I'm not sure, but I think my jaw is almost on the floor.   _I can't believe it!_   _I'm not dreaming!  Dream Boy is a real boy!_  
  
He skids to a stop at the desk, carefully setting down the three boxes of pizza he'd been balancing (who knew librarians could put away like that).  He pulls the goggles down around his neck, ruffles his hair, and wipes his forehead with his sleeve.  I can't hear the exchange between him and the librarian on duty, but he manages to coax a smile out the usually ornery old broad.  She pays him and he fishes change out of his... _oh my god_ , its a fanny pack.  
  
I'm so lost in the realization that Dream Boy isn't a dream that Mina's gentle elbow in my side may as well have been a knife for the way I jerk away from her.  Oh god, I totally forget she was here.  I think I forgot _I_ was here.  She's looking up at me, one hand on her hip, expression somewhere between curious and pissed.  
  
"Do you know that boy?"  
  
"Uhhh...."  
  
That's the best I have.  I can only watch as Dream Boy rolls away with a wave, floral fanny pack and all.


	3. Let's Pretend I Didn't Say Obsessed

_Ping!  Ping!  Ping!  
  
_ Oh, right.  The nightly influx of e-mails.  Why have I not deleted that account from my phone?  I scroll through the new messages, trailing a bit behind the group.   _Groupon.  iTunes.  Buzzfeed.  Hoover_.  That last one is new.  I only make it to  _Dear Mr. Kirstein, it has come to my attention that_  before snorting and tapping  _delete_  without a second thought.  
  
"What was that about?"  
  
Apparently, Armin had slowed his pace to hang back with me.  Despite the oppressive, wet heat, he's cocooned in one of his favorite baggy cardigans- this one a dark floral print that looks like it was lifted straight off a granny's couch.  It works on him somehow.  
  
"I don't know, man.  Probably some Nigerian prince after all the money I don't have."  He laughs, tucking a stray bit of hair behind his ear.  "Where are we going anyway?  I pretty much just got dragged out of the house."  
  
My question is promptly answered by a punch to the shoulder, courtesy of Eren.  Oh god, I'm surrounded.  
  
"We're going to Ymir's, remember?  I've told you, like, three times this week."  
  
"Yeah, Jean.  What are you doing with New Girl that has you so distracted?"  
  
Now its Sasha's elbow in my side and oh my god, can I not catch a break from these goons?  I allow them to talk over me, grunt and finally laugh as Sasha takes a running leap onto my back so I can carry her to Ymir's (which is blessedly close).  
  
As soon as we're in the door, Ymir is pressing cans of beer into everyone's grip, cold and shitty- a long-standing tradition at her parties.  If anyone brings  _nice_  beer, its hoarded in some secret beer cave, leaving the rest of us with PBR or nothing.  Generally I choose nothing, passing my unopened can along to anyone who will take it (usually Eren, after he's smashed his first can against his forehead).  
  
The place is crowded as usual; people mingling in the living room, blocking the stairs, hanging over the railing of the loft to holler to people below, trying to be heard over the music.  I've gotta pee I mutter to no one in particular as I break from the herd, already searching for a path that will lead me to the back patio.  People are moving, sure, but it still feels like I'm about to get crushed in a nasty space ship trash compactor.  I pause in the kitchen to rummage through the fridge, hoping that maybe Ymir (or Christa, more likely) was thoughtful enough to buy some sodas or bottled water.  
  
I see Armin glide by out of the corner of my eye, a flurry of old lady floral and gone again before I can ask if he wants anything if I find it. Instead, I get a hip check to the shoulder. Is it bust up Jean night or something? I would respond just as well to a tap on the shoulder if anyone needed me.  
  
"Its not like she'd hide the beer somewhere so obvious."  
  
Hip-Check McGee is leaning on the refrigerator door, keen blue eyes watching, and I squint back up at her from where I've dropped into a very undignified squat to regain my balance.  
  
"I don't even drink."  
  
"Really?  Because I distinctly remember you nursing a pomegranate something or other at the bar at the New Ye-"  
  
"Yeah, I don't know what you're talking about.  I was looking for soda or something.  Actually," now that I've gotten over the brutal greeting I remember who exactly I'm talking to.  Caroline- she knows everyone; there's a chance that she knows a certain Dream Boy.  "There's this guy.  He rolls around on roller blades, has a doofy fanny pack and goggles like this."  I mime the lenses resting on top of my head and pretend I don't notice the smirk she's trying to hide.  
  
"Yeah, that's Marco Bodt.  He just moved here from, like, the midwest or something.  He's the delivery boy for that new sweets shop on the other side of town, the one the crazy ex chem teacher owns.  I think he's here tonight actually."  
  
"He's  _here_ _?_ "  
  
_Marco Bodt, dream boy no longer._

* * *

A quick scan of the crowd finds Ymir on her booze throne, Christa under one arm, deep in conversation with Eren.  I sidle up next to Eren who, sure enough, has a crushed beer can peeking out of his back pocket.  
  
"Hey, Ymir, who invited Marco Bodt?"  
  
She stares dumbly at me for a beat before replying, " _I_ did, dumbass.  Its  _my_ party."  
  
"Yeah, whatever.  So what's his deal?"  
  
"His  _deal_ is none of your business, Jean."  I see Christa raise a hand as if to stop her mouthy girlfriend, but I guess she changed her mind because Ymir just barrels on.  "He is a literal saint and does not need to be tainted by the likes of _you_.  I absolutely  _forbid_ you from hitting on him, do you understand me, short stop?"  
  
Eren looks between the two of us, eyebrows raised, and asks, "Why?  Didn't you say he was single?"  
  
"Oh my god,  _yes,_ but I didn't want Jean to know that,  _Eren_.  You know how he gets.  Besides, he's got his nanny job to keep up with."  
  
The last bit is lost on me, honestly, because Dream Boy- Marco Bodt- is single and apparently a little more well known than I'd realized.  So the rest of the evening is spent keeping an eye out and an ear open for any information.  
  
_I heard he's the oldest of seven kids and moved out here to get away from them.  
  
__Really?  I heard he came out here to work odd jobs to send money back.  
  
__I heard he was dating some corporate big wig.  Can you imagine?_  
  
I've pretty much given up on finding him at this point.  I've been mingling uncomfortably for almost an hour with nothing to show for it. I find a quiet corner to sulk in, clutching a red plastic cup full of water just for something to do with my hands.

  
“Nice to finally find a quiet spot, right?”  
  
I roll my eyes and flop my head to left to see who had the nerve to interrupt my brooding and almost immediately drop my cup. _Marco_. His cheeks are a little flushed, head turned just enough to confirm that he is, indeed, talking to me. _Oh god I'm not prepared. Come on pull yourself together._  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess. I, uh...like your shoes?”  
  
Marco blinks a few times, staring at me, before looking down at his nondescript sneakers.  
  
“Thanks? They're the only ones that feel good after a day of work. I'm more of a _comfort over style_ kind of guy most of the time.” He laughs, a quiet huff and a head shake before he takes another sip from his cup.  
  
Because my brain is totally unreliable at the best of times the next thing out of my mouth is, “Hey, did you know Coke would be green if they didn't add all that color and shit to it? Can you imagine drinking something that looked like...I don't know, Mountain Dew but tasted...like...” Marco is just staring at me now, just barely hanging on to his polite demeanor. “I'll just leave you alone now.”  
  
He just looks forward and has the good grace to let me slink away.

Armin is understandably confused when, half an hour later, I grab him by the shoulders, proclaim  _he's real_ and dash out the door without sparing a backwards look for anyone.

* * *

I fumble my key into the lock, pressing my shoulder into the warped wood of the door as I turn the knob. Damn thing is so warped you have to know all the little tricks to get it to open. I finally bust my way into a dark room, blinking rapidly. My eyes have almost adjusted when a lamp clicks on.  
  
“What the-?”  
  
I try to shield my poor, blinded eyes with my forearm, covering my face and cursing into the crook of my elbow.  
  
“Your mother and I have been worried sick. Come on, young man. Let's have a talk.”  
  
Connie. Of course. He's lounging in our (okay, his) recliner, empty margarita glass and crazy straw on the side table. Who knows where his pants are.  
  
I kick off my shoes and fall into bed, arms stretched over my head. He may be a little drunk, but even then Connie isn't a bad guy to talk things out with. Of all the idiots I hang out with, he's surprisingly the most level-headed; when it really counts, he gives sound advice and its that fact that makes my lips move.  
  
“There's this guy,” I start, feeling a flutter beginning in the pit of my stomach. I hear the click of the foot rest being shoved back into place and the space beside me in bed is occupied a moment later. I keep my eyes on the ceiling as I continue. “I didn't think he was real, but he was at Ymir's party. I made a total dick of myself. Man, I told him the _Coke would be green if_ story.”  
  
Connie groans and flops a hand over to clutch at my chest, his embarrassment for me a bit exaggerated. Then he turns on his side and gives me a nudge, prompting me to face him. I turn my eyes and stare for a second before the rest of my body follows, the flutter I felt at the mention of Marco turning into a nervous growl.  
  
“I know you wouldn't have said anything to me if you didn't want my opinion, Jean, so I'm going to be as straight as I can be with you.” He levels me with the most somber gaze and the heat solidifies, separates, and burrows through my skin, travels through my veins. He's still clutching my shirt as he says, “Break up with your fake high school girlfriend.”  
  
I huff and push him off the bed and he has the nerve to just laugh it off when I roll over to shut him out. The bathroom door slams and my phone rings not thirty seconds later.  
  
“Juggling two dates at once?” Christa screeches from the other end.  
  
“I am not!” I grouse back. “Who have you been talking to?”  
  
“Connie! Duh!”  
  
“Connie!”  
  
_That gossipy bitch!_

* * *

I'm laying on my back in a wheat field, watching the clouds float by. One looks like a rabbit, another like some weird spindly tree. A gentle breeze gusts through and the wheat tickles my nose, whispering memories of childhood spent on a relative's farm. Then a familiar _drag, scratch_ pops the bubble I've found myself in and I sit bolt upright, searching. _There he is_.  
  
There's now a sidewalk winding through the middle of the field, continuing on beyond to who knows where. Maybe to one of Dream Boy's mysterious doors. He spares a brief look in my direction, lips quirking upward and I start before I can think better of it.  
  
“I'm dreaming?”  
  
“Good call!”  
  
His laugh echoes as I jolt awake not in a field, but in the bed next to a snoring Connie.  
  
_Another day_.

* * *

I'm sitting next to Mina on the couch at Eren's, watching him pace in front of Sasha's drum kit.  Connie's advice from last night is still rolling around in my head, knocking around like marbles; clacking, irritating, and hard to ignore.  Armin is settled on my other side, a new, impossibly thicker book resting in his lap.  At this point, I'm not even surprised.  
  
"Okay, so I pulled some strings got us into this summer's local battle of the bands."  Mina squeals beside me, only slightly more amped than Eren about the news.  "If we make it through to the final round, we'll be able to play for a big time record label.  Hannes wouldn't tell me who it would be exactly, but I get the feeling its big.  Like, really major, so we're going to have to work hard!  Harder than we've ever worked before!  We might even have to pull out some original stuff- cover bands don't get signed as often as you'd think."  
  
I whip out my phone as he continues to rally the troops, leaning slightly away from Mina even though she's still attached to my arm.  My browser is still opened to the web page for  _What the Fudge_ ; a fairly frustrating Google search earlier had finally yielded results once I remembered the former chem teacher at our local high school was named Hanji.  I had put a few items in my cart, but hadn't quite gotten up the nerve to complete the order.  What business do I have ordering chili chocolate truffles when I still depend on a check from mom and dad every month while I'm between jobs?  Then again, this is probably the only way I'll be able to talk to Marco again, get a second chance after that disastrous first impression.  I could probably sweet talk Connie into splitting the cost (the way to that man's heart is legitimately through his stomach and he has one hell of a sweet tooth).  
  
I'm pretty distracted for the rest of the night; I'd be surprised if someone told me I actually played a note.  I don't even remember taking Mina to the bus, but her relentless goodnight texts let me know she got there somehow.  
  
Okay, I really need to do something.  
  
Its Saturday, one of Connie's days off from whatever it is he does during the week, so I decide to broach the topic of fudge.  
  
"Hey, man, what would you say if I wanted to buy you some chocolate?"  
  
Its meant to be casual but it just sounds like a bad come on.  Sure enough he pops his head around from the kitchen, eyebrows in his hairline.  
  
"I'd say its about time, young man.  You can't just share my bed for nothin' you know."  
  
"Come one, man, its about  _that guy_ \- Marco.  You know haw bad I blew it at Ymir's.  He delivers for Hanji's place and I'm pretty sure this is the only way I'll get a chance to redeem myself and beg for a date."  
  
"What about your fake high school girlfriend?"  All that earns him is an irritated growl and a noncommittal shrug.  "Okay, I know you're trying to get me to split the cost of this ill-advised plan.  I can't believe you're using my weakness against me, Jean, I would never."  A snort from me.  "Maybe I would, you're right, but I'll only do this on one condition."  Silence falls between us and he lets me stew in it for a few beats before finally, " _Break up with your fake high school girl friend!"  
  
_ "Fine!"  
  
I'm not great with confrontation but he's right.  Mina is a good girl who deserves more than this pitiful attempt at a relationship, but I can't help but remember how she looked up at me through her lashes at the bus stop, all innocence and good intentions.  And here I am, chasing some guy I saw in my dreams.  That's something I can put off for later though, and man am I excellent at avoidance.  
  
The page is still conveniently open (and Connie's card info is entered, all according to plan); all I have to do is press  _Submit_.  A package of whiskey caramels and Oreo truffles should be at my door within the hour.  Pacing won't do me any good so I just sit in front of the door and wait.  The shuffling sounds from the kitchen pause.  
  
"Jean," Connie ventures, "are you waiting for the chocolates you just ordered?  Are you  _really_ going to sit there for an hour?"  
  
He's right.  May as well get some beauty rest in.  I need all the help I can get.

* * *

It feels like I just closed my eyes, but I'm already awake again.  The apartment is silent so I guess Connie left at some point.  I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom to splash some water on my face- something, anything to get myself oriented.  I look in the mirror, and damn I must still be really tired because the shadows are doing crazy things in the hallway behind me.  
  
Wait a second.  
  
Our apartment isn't even as long as a regular hallway.  
  
I hear that familiar  _scratch drag_ of roller blades and sure enough, Marco zooms by me, fanny pack on his hip and my package of sweets under his arm.  
  
"Hey!"  I call out only to wake in our recliner.  No sooner than I get my bearings, the door bell chimes.   _Surely not_.  
  
I scramble to the door, flinging it open just as Marco is about to press his finger to the door bell again.  
  
He looks a little confused but smiles just the same and says, "Order for Jean Kirstein?"  
  
Oh  _god_ , he's even cuter in the daylight outside of Ymir's grungy house.    
  
"Yeah, that's me!"  
  
"Great!  Can you sign for this, please?  You made some great choices by the way.  The whiskey caramels are my favorite."  
  
I take his pen and tiny clipboard, scribbling what I guess is my name and he squints at me a little, like he's really thinking something over.  
  
"Hey do I know you?"  I shake my head but he continues.  "Oh god, you're the Coke guy from the party!"  Its not teasing, exactly- his laughter is warm and sweet, like he's recalling a conversation with a long time friend, not some creep at a house party.  
  
"Uh," I grasp at the back of my neck; I can feel anxious flames licking at my chest and there's no doubt my cheeks are probably an ungodly shade of red.  "Yeah, I'm sorry about all that.  Its just I've been seeing you in my dreams a lot lately-"  
  
He cuts me off, "Yeah there's a really convenient subspace highway that runs right through your head.  Do you guys not have that here or?  Oh, sorry."  
  
"Sub space?  Is that like...Rainbow Road or something?"  He just blinks.  Oh god, this is party night all over again.  "Yeah, anyway, you've been rolling through my head which explains why I've been so obsessed with you, I guess."  His laughter is nervous now, and he's back away, looking for an escape and I can't blame him.  "Oh my god, I'm sorry!  Let's pretend I didn't say obsessed."  I'm still fiddling with the pen he handed me.  "I just really screwed up the other night but I think we could have a really good time if you just gave me a chance.  We could get to know each other and you could find more reasons to keep hanging out with me and you're new here so I could show you around in the meantime."    
  
Oh god I'm rambling.  Marco, please say something.  
  
"Maybe I should just find a new route.  You  _are_ totally obsessed aren't you."  He's rubbing his index finger just under his nose, poorly concealing his grin.  "If I say yes, will you sign for your package?"  My nod is just on the right side of enthusiastic, no hint of obsessive delight.  "Listen, I'm free tonight if you want to hang out?"  
  
"Yeah, that sounds great!  How's eight o'clock?  We can just meet in the bakery downstairs.  They have great coffee and danishes.  Unless you're not into sweets then we can do literally anything else."  I'm rambling again.  Will the embarrassment ever end?  
  
"I was thinking about how nice that place looks on my way up actually."  He smiles, freckles bunching in the corners of his eyes.  "I'll see you at eight, Jean."  
  
He takes the clipboard, zips it back up in his fanny back, and secures his goggles back over his eyes before heading down the stairs.  At the bottom he turns to wave over his shoulder, just a little wiggle of his fingers.  
  
_Shit._

 


End file.
